


Shouldn't be a good in goodbye

by CrushedRose



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crying, Heartache, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pain, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 03:04:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10208021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrushedRose/pseuds/CrushedRose
Summary: This is sad, very sad.  Mycroft and Greg are at a funeral.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Plateja13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plateja13/gifts).



> This is the result of a friend's request for a very sad fic.  
> Happy birthday Plateja13!

** Shouldn’t be a good in goodbye **

 

 

_After the silence, after the last words. _

_Caught in the silence. Caught in between. _

_After the madness. After the slow shock. _

_Before the wave hits, the flood comes rushing in. _

 

 

There was no rain, and it was supposed to be raining according to the weather reports.  It was such a paradox to the whole atmosphere in the small room.  The air hung like a thick cloud of pain and heartache in the room, no warmth, no heat and no comfort. 

The occupants in the room were solemn, the eyes dull with pain but shiny with unshed tears.  The entire day was a day of irony and contradiction.  A day of opposite, everything that should be happy and joyous are causing an intense pain. 

Mycroft stood as if frozen, the proverbial ice man.  A statue of limited emotions, his back rigid, his eyes staring ahead his fingers clutching each other as it stood clasped in front of him. 

Greg stood next to him, his face grim, his shoulders sagged and his head bend to the floor.  His hands were in his pockets. 

 

There was no one else, just them and clergyman.  That and a small black coffin, it looked like black sleek ice the sun rays cascading in golden rays through the window.  There was a small bouquet specifically chosen; a pink carnation for ‘ _I’ll never forget you_ , a white carnation for  ‘ _innocence_ ’ and ‘ _pure love’_ , a red carnation for ‘ _my heart aches for you_ ’ an iris for  ‘ _hope_ ’ and a statice for ‘ _remembrance_.’  It may not have been artfully correct but neither of them cared.  It was for her, their little angel. 

_   _

_This is the bad before the worse. _

_This is the storm before the storm _

_I haven't even hit the bottom of this ocean floor. _

_This is the bend before the break. _

_This is the mercy not the grace. _

_This is the proof and not the faith I try to find. _

_There shouldn't be a good in goodbye. _

 

 

They didn’t listen to the clergyman, they weren’t really interested in hearing what he has to say, they were too far gone in their memories, in the circumstances that lead them here. 

The threads of the situations, choices and life that happened that instead of debating baby room colors and names, that made them bicker about how big the cot must be, how many surveillance cameras was allowed in her room, they had to choose what colour the coffin must be.  They had to choose the flowers that would decorate her coffin, and they had to choose where to bury her in the ground. 

Contradicting to the current day, it was actually raining when they received the call.  Mycroft was in a meeting with the Prime Minister, Greg was running after Sherlock.  The message just read:

** Please meet Dr. Somerset urgently at his office.’ **

They arrived together at the office, their hearts beating and the worry in both their eyes.  They went to the doctor, the woman who was their surrogate was in the bed, crying.  The doctor asked them to sit, but they both declined.  Greg walked to the girl, his instinct to protect and comfort oh high alert.  Mycroft stood back, reading her like an open book, he turned to the doctor, and he was just as clear. His stomach dropped and he turned to Greg, this was going to break him. He just need to stay strong, this can’t break them.

They listened as the doctor explained, she was 21 weeks pregnant and just tested positive for Edward’s Syndrome, the full form of three sets of the Chromosome 18.  The baby had a 90% chance of dying in the next few days, and a 100% in the first few hours of being born.  They were devastated.  Greg cried and Mycroft held him as tight as he could.  It didn’t help to ease the pain and suffering.  It didn’t change the inevitable, a week later the baby died while in the womb.  She was forced to deliver the baby, even dead.  Greg insisted to be there, Mycroft wanted to be on the different side of the planet, but where Greg was, he was.  He held Greg as the baby was born, a little girl.  Too early, too young and too sick to stand a chance. 

They didn’t tell anyone, not the specifics.  They told Mycroft’s parents it was a miscarriage, nothing left.  They didn’t tell them the woman was made to deliver her; they didn’t tell anyone they were going to bury her.  They didn’t want to keep it a secret; they just didn’t want them to share in their pain.  They didn’t want to burden anyone with their grief, with their heart wrenching pain.

It was like ice, shattering their dreams, their hopes, and their family before it even had a chance to begin.

 

_If I never loved you, if I never felt your kiss. _

_If I never had you. I know that I...I still would have mourned you. _

_I would have missed your smile. _

_If it wasn't so worth it, this wouldn't be... _

_Oh this wouldn't be the bad before the worse and the storm before the storm. _

 

They were brought back from their reverie by the choked gasp as Greg tried to keep his sobs from breaking the words of the clergyman.  Mycroft shot out his hand and grabbed Greg’s.  Their fingers clasped together, the knuckles white and the grip tight.  This few days had been rough but somehow they made it through together stronger, it could be that they saw each other through the worst moments of their lives, they found each other when both of them was on shattered on the rock, and build each other up.  Strong and solid, a foundation to continue building on their lives together. 

 

_I haven't even hit the bottom of this ocean floor. _

_This is the bend before the break. _

_This is the mercy not the grace. _

_This is the proof and not the faith I try to find. _

_There shouldn't be a good in goodbye. _

_   _

_I know this is gonna get better ohh. _

_I know this is gonna get better ohh. _

_I know. _

 

The clergyman finished the small service and turned to them. 

“I see there is no name plaque on the coffin; can we continue to bury the child?”  Mycroft wanted to nod.  He didn’t want to give her a name, they never could decide on one, Greg wanted Claire Mycroft wanted Anna.  It was the only two names left over from an entire list that was crossed out.  

He just slightly shook his head but Greg cleared his throat.

“I....I...ma...de made a plaque.”  He turned towards Mycroft, lifting their clasped hands, kissing Mycroft’s knuckles.

“I couldn’t allow... I couldn’t bury o...ou...our daughter without a name.”  Mycroft hated seeing Greg so broken, the tears running down his cheeks, those brown eyes like spilled coffee down the drain.  The first tear finally escaped Mycroft’s eye, running down he skin to fall on their hands.  The hint of a smile, a sad broken smile, understanding in it.

“It’s okay, its fine.”  And it was, Greg was right; they couldn’t bury their daughter without a name.  Greg returned the smile and took out his other hand, a small golden plaque with their daughter’s name: 

_Anna Claire Holmes-Lestrade. _

Mycroft took it with his hand trembling and looked at the name, it fitted perfectly, it was perfect.  A second tear ran down his eye, following by another.  Together they placed the plaque on the small coffin.  The sun rays caught the gold and reflected on them, casting golden lights around them both.

The clergyman nodded as they put it down and looked up, he stopped briefly his eyes looking to something in the distance.  Greg and Mycroft turned around, their eyes widen in surprise.  Sherlock was standing in the back, dressed in a suit and tie, he was holding a flower.

“I...”  Sherlock stopped talking, unsure of what to say.  Greg held out his hand, it was in and inviting manner, Mycroft nodded.  With steady steps Sherlock walked forwards, standing besides his brother.  His eyes followed the coffin; he read the name and looked down.  Swallowing the lump.  Lifting his hand he placed the flower below the name, a small hydrangea meaning ‘ _heartfelt_ ’.  Mycroft eyed the flower, knowing exactly what his brother wanted to say, but had no words.  He knows the feeling as he was without words.  Greg didn’t seem to mind as they both clung to each other as they sleep.  Word weren’t needed when they would comfort each other wipe each other tears are just supported one another. Their hands tight as they stand in front of the coffin, together. In everything.

 

 

_This is the bitter not the sweet. _

_This is the take and not the keep. _

_And I haven't even reached the bottom of this ocean floor. _

_   _

_This is the bend before the break. _

_This is the mercy not the grace. _

_This is the proof and not the faith I try to find. _

_There shouldn't be a good in goodbye. _

_Yeah. There shouldn't be good in goodbye. _

_   _

_There shouldn't be a good in goodbye. _

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hooe this is okay for a sad fic, I know you wanted sad and mystrade, but I struggled to come up with something in the line of my previous works. I hope this is okay though.


End file.
